


Sherlock's not Superman

by SeverEstHolmes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Caring John, Graphic Depicitions of Illness, Illnesses, M/M, Sick Sherlock, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 06:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeverEstHolmes/pseuds/SeverEstHolmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a short, Sherlock sick!fic; oneshot - Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock's not Superman

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters (unfortunately)!  
> A/N: I'm a sucker for a sick fic, so I thought I'd give writing one a go - I hope you enjoy, and I'd love to hear what you think about it! :)

            Sherlock rubbed his hands together quickly and blew into them as though trying to warm them up. John eyed him suspiciously from across the room – they had arrived back at the flat from Scotland Yard over half an hour ago and Sherlock still hadn’t taken his coat off. Surely he couldn’t be _cold!_ Today was one of the hottest days of summer so far; the streets had been littered with people in shorts and vest t-shirts, every café had tables outside and were so packed that navigating along the pavement became some kind of bizarre obstacle course. It was strange that in the sun in Britain only needed to be out for a second and suddenly everyone was in skimpy clothes, desperately trying to get a tan, acting like they had been transported to Spain rather than London! Yet Sherlock was fitted out with a full suit and his thick winter coat and he hadn’t complained about the heat… It wasn’t like he was unaware of the temperature – his face was flushed pink across his cheeks and there was a sheen of sweat present on his forehead.

            “Are you alright Sherlock?” John asked, after watching Sherlock rub his hands together for the second time in under a minute.

            “Of course I am!” Sherlock snapped harshly. He was sitting at the table in the kitchen, with several test tubes in front of him and a strip of what appeared to be human muscle on the table top.

            “Are you not overheating working with your jacket on?” He didn’t want to sound as though he was badgering Sherlock, but he was interested in how a man so sensitive to his environment could be utterly insensitive to this heat.

            “No.” Sherlock’s reply was curt. John tugged at the collar of his own shirt, the heat was certainly getting to him – the wound in his shoulder was aching slightly, and he hadn’t felt this lethargic in a long time. Despite Sherlock’s refusal that the heat wasn’t affecting him, John continued to watch him as inconspicuously as he could (knowing that Sherlock would probably sense this). Apart from the pink flush across his cheeks, Sherlock’s face was actually paler than usual… perhaps him keeping his coat on and the continual warming up of his hands wasn’t anything to do with the weather outside, but was to do with his internal temperature instead. If he had a fever it would explain why he was keeping his jacket on, despite the heat outside his thermometer would be expending too much heat which would make him feel cold; it would account, also, for the flush on his cheeks and the sweat on his forehead. But it was possible that John’s medical brain was creating something that wasn’t actually there.  As John was watching, Sherlock picked up the scalpel to begin cutting up the flesh, but his fingers were trembling so he couldn’t maintain a firm grip on the knife. He replaced it on the table and rubbed his hands together before attempting again, but his hands were still shaking. He slammed down the scalpel on the table top once more and sighed loud enough for John to hear him. He complained, John rolled his eyes – it was common for Sherlock to blame someone else for lack of concentration, and that was often John. Standing up from his chair, John crossed the room to investigate what exactly it was that Sherlock had been trying to find out.

            “What are you trying to do anyway?” He asked, looking over Sherlock’s shoulder, he was close enough to feel the wave of heat that was radiating from Sherlock.

            “Testing for amino acids…” Sherlock answered, slightly flustered. “Why? You’re not normal interested in – what are you doing John?!” Sherlock reacted as John had unexpectedly stretched out his hand and rested it on Sherlock’s forehead.

            “Sherlock, you’re burning up!” John exclaimed, as the heat from Sherlock’s forehead matched the heat outside.

            “Of course! It’s hot outside John!” He countered, shrinking away from John’s hand.

            “Why haven’t you taken your jacket off then?” John questioned, Sherlock was frowning but he couldn’t seem to think of a convincing answer.

            “I’m fine.” He said stubbornly.

            “The evidence points otherwise.” John told him firmly.

            “What evidence?” He crossed his arms tightly over his chest.

            “The colour of your face, the sweat on your forehead, and the fact that you’re shivering Sherlock!” John stated clearly.

            “Well the evidence is wrong!” Sherlock refuted quickly, but the stare that John was giving him made him quell slightly.

            “You know what you’d say if I suggested your evidence was wrong.” John said quietly.

            “Yes, but that’s _my_ evidence!” He protested.

            “And _my_ evidence is purely medically based, and I’m medically trained.” John reminded him.

            “Alright, alright – yeah, I feel a little cold, but it’s nothing! It’ll pass.” Sherlock argued, “There’s no need to fuss about it!”

            “I’m not fussing, but you need to stop pretending you’re superhuman!”

            “You sound like Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock muttered defensively and John scowled at him.

            “Sherlock-" John began to reprimand him, but Sherlock pushed his chair away from the table and walked past John into the sitting room.

            “Oh can you just shut up, please? You’re giving me a headache…” Sherlock sat down in his armchair and rubbed his hand across his face in an exhausted manner.

            “Have you had any other symptoms?” John questioned, follwing him around to the sitting room and standing in front of Sherlock’s chair.

            “Apart from an _annoying_ noise in my face, no!” Sherlock answered in exasperation. “Some peace and quiet would be nice until this headache goes away.” He was hinting that he wanted John to shut up; John sighed and sat down in his armchair. He picked up the newspaper that was lying on the arm of the chair and hid his face behind it, but he couldn’t focus his attention on the words of the print; he was listening carefully for any noise that Sherlock made. John didn’t want to obviously be watching, as that would only make Sherlock more annoyed.

            After about twenty-five minutes John thought it might be sage to glance at Sherlock, just to be safe, especially as the sound from the chair across from him had ceased. Cautiously he flicked down one side of his newspaper and then dropped it completely - Sherlock was leaning forwards with his head rested in his hands, the flush that had been across his cheeks had drained away so his face was very pale.

            “Sherlock?” John said quickly, moving off his chair and kneeling down in front of Sherlock. “Sherlock, what’s wrong?”

            “Nothing…” He replied, he was visibly shaking now and his attempt to bat John away was feeble.

            “Yeah, like I’m going to believe that!” John snorted. “Stop being super human and tell me how you’re feeling.” Sherlock stared insolently at John as though he wanted to make some kind of rude remark, but he couldn’t get any words to join up.

            “I’m cold…” Sherlock admitted honestly, “And I feel a bit nauseous.”

            “How long have you felt like this?” John asked, annoyed at Sherlock’s insistence that everything was fine when it quite clearly wasn’t – but now wasn’t the time to bring up Sherlock’s character flaws.

            “A couple of hours…” He answered; rubbing his hand over his face again.

            “How bad is it just now?” John had placed his hand on Sherlock’s forehead again, and this time Sherlock didn’t retract.

            “Measured in what manner?” He closed his eyes.

            “Come on Sherlock, stop evading, just tell me.” John told him off.

            “I can’t decide whether I’m too hot or too cold…” He started, “If I stand up, I think I’ll probably pass out; and my stomach doesn’t seem to know which was is up.”

            “Let’s get your jacket off – your temperature is making you feel cold, but actually you’re overheating…” John instructed, standing up and beginning to pull Sherlock’s jacket off his arm. “I’ll get you some water, and some paracetomol to bring your temperature down.” John basically manoeuvred Sherlock out of his jacket with him still in his chair and then pushed him back gently so he was leaning back. John collected a glass from the draining board and filled it with water; Sherlock was an idiot, he couldn’t even admit when he was feeling ill… and that would do him no favours. He carried the glass of water and two tablets over and knelt in front of Sherlock again; “Take these.” He handed the tablets across to Sherlock, who took them without arguing. “You should really go up to bed and get some rest.” Sherlock was shaking his head as John suggested this.

            “I really don’t want to move…” He responded.

            “Alright.” John agreed reluctantly. “Say something if you feel worse.” John picked up his newspaper once more, knowing that sitting watching Sherlock would only make him worry, and Sherlock get annoyed. He just had to look somewhat busy; he didn’t have to pretend for long, John knew he couldn’t have been reading for more than five minutes before Sherlock interrupted him:

            “John?” Sherlock’s voice was shaky and weak, and that was what alerted John to the fact that something was wrong. “John… I really don’t feel good…”

            “Do you feel sick?” John asked, Sherlock nodded; John leapt to his feet, Sherlock’s face had a slight tinge of greyish- green over it and he was swallowing very rapidly. “Do you think you can make it to the toilet if I help you?” John suggested, but the pallor of Sherlock’s skin didn’t seem encouraging and he shook his head. “Hold on a second –“ John glanced around quickly and then dashed across the room and seized the waste paper bin, he placed it at Sherlock’s feet just in case. Sherlock was desperately trying to stop himself from gagging, but he wasn’t going to hold it off forever. John perched on the arm of Sherlock’s chair and rested his hand comfortingly on Sherlock’s back, the material of his shirt was damp. “It’s alright Sherlock.” Sherlock took a deep, calming breath in – but it didn’t work; he pitched forwards violently and vomited into the bucket.

            “Oh god..” He muttered, coughing and wiping his mouth with his hand.

            “Why didn’t you say you were feeling ill earlier Sherlock?” John said, handing Sherlock a tissue to wipe his mouth with. “Why do you always have to be invincible?” John sighed.

            “I’m sorry.” Sherlock answered weakly; he sounded much younger, and scared, and that tone made John instantly feel guilty for snapping at him.

            “No, don’t be sorry…” John corrected himself, “I didn’t mean to sound that harsh. You can’t be sorry for being unwell.”

            “Sorry I didn’t –“ Sherlock started, but he cut off when he retched again. “Urgh – sorry I didn’t say earlier.”

            “It’s alright… next time you’ll know to say something right away.” John rubbed his hand on Sherlock’s back. “Take a drink – then I’ll help you up to your room.”

            “I still feel sick.” Sherlock muttered.

            “It’s okay – I’ll stay with you… Make sure you’re alright.” John told him calmly as Sherlock sipped cautiously at the water.

            “Thank you…” Sherlock murmured, he looked up at John. “Thank you for looking after me.”

            “Don’t worry about it – what are friends for!” 


End file.
